<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>My Heart Won't Let My Feet Do Things They Should Do by LazyDandyLion</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25506310">My Heart Won't Let My Feet Do Things They Should Do</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyDandyLion/pseuds/LazyDandyLion'>LazyDandyLion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>EastEnders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Dancing and Singing, Deaf Character, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Musicals, Pandemics, lockdown - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:07:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,406</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25506310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyDandyLion/pseuds/LazyDandyLion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“We dance to seduce ourselves. To fall in love with ourselves. When we dance with another, we manifest the very thing we love about ourselves so that they may see it and love us too.” – Kamand Kojouri</p><p>Ben loves to dance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>My Heart Won't Let My Feet Do Things They Should Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm not entirely sure what this is - I was watching the 2008 repeats of EastEnders on iPlayer, and thinking about 12 year old Ben who just wanted to dance, and well, this happened, but it kind of grew arms and legs.  (Apologies to anyone who's been waiting on new chapters of 'Salt and Vinegar' while I was working mainly on this thing!)</p><p>Anyway, I'm very open to feedback and constructive criticism on this fic in particular - I know I may have got some things wrong, so please tell me if you think I have, I'd rather know.</p><p>The Deaf dance collective and dance teacher in this fic are all fictional, but inspired at least in part by reading about Chris Foncesa, Billy Read, Ariel Fung and the dance troupe Def Motion.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t dance,” Ben had said to him once, that disastrous night in the Prince Albert, and Callum had taken it at face value.  He didn’t know him then, not really.  He’d seen the surface, the sparkles and glints reflecting off the water on a calm day or the fierce waves when the storm raged.  And he’d seen the odd glimpse of what lay below, the flash of a fin, the rich colours that could be sensed when you tried to look deeper, below the waves. But he was yet to dive in back then, the depths were still a mystery to him.</p><p>So he’d taken Ben’s words and his actions for what they were.  He didn’t dance.  He wasn’t interested.  Callum had got it all wrong.  But then Stuart had let slip and Lola had waded in and Callum had realised that Ben’s actions weren’t what they first appeared to be.  It’s a couple of days later when he realises he couldn’t trust any of Ben’s words that night either.</p><p>Ben is giddy the night of Bex’s party in the Vic, lighter than Callum has ever seen him.  Throughout the night, he can’t stop moving, fidgeting, playing with any object within touching distance; sunglasses, party poppers, streamers, Jay’s shirt, Lola’s ponytail...and Callum.  He touches Callum constantly, whenever he’s near him, and Callum can’t decide if he’s staking his claim or reassuring himself that Callum won’t disappear.</p><p>Callum’s giddy himself, floating, waiting to wake up from this dream but praying it never ends.  Everyone knows now.  The world hasn’t ended.  It’s starting anew.</p><p>The music is loud and he realises Ben is singing along under his breath.  They’ve ended up in a corner, tucked away behind the bar, private for a moment, and a laugh bubbles up and escapes from Ben’s throat. He looks up at Callum, glowing, and Callum can only stare in wonder.  An old Elton John track is playing, <em>Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting</em>, and Ben begins to dance, his hips swaying as he grabs Callum’s hands and pulls him in.</p><p>They dance together, bodies in rhythm as one like they were made for this, and the grin on Callum’s face is so wide his cheeks hurt from smiling.</p><p>“I thought you didn’t dance.”</p><p>Ben laughs again, unashamed of the lie.  “I might have exaggerated.”</p><p>“What else don’t I know?”</p><p>“Oh, you’ve only scratched the surface.” He stops dancing then, steps back, unsure.  Reaches for the drink he left perched on the end of the bar.  “Scared?”</p><p>Callum shakes his head, steps closer.  “I want to know.”  Everything. I want to know everything, he wants to say, but he holds back.  This is still too new, too fragile.</p><p>They dance together a few more times that evening, but it’s not real dancing.  It’s jokey, light-hearted, arms-length, a few seconds at a time here and there.  A bit of a boogie in a crowded pub to the Magic FM playlist that someone’s decided is appropriate party music for an 18-year-old girl off to uni.  Callum resolves that they’ll dance together properly one day if he has anything to do with it.  He smiles at himself in bafflement and wonder; two days ago, he said the words ‘I’m gay’ out loud and kissed a man in public for the first time.  Now here he is, wanting to dance with him without a care in the world for who might be watching.</p><p>“What’s up with you?” says Ben.</p><p>He shrugs. “I’m just happy.”</p><p>“Daft sod.”  But Ben can’t wipe the smile off his own face either.  His shoulders are rolling in time to the disco tune currently thumping through the pub and his foot taps out a rhythm as he leans against the bar.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Think of what you’re losing by constantly refusing to dance with me</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Callum learns more about Ben’s dancing feet by accident, through his brother of all people.  Stuart’s mood is low and bad-tempered after Rainie’s relapse and arrest, and Ben’s increasing presence in the flat is beginning to cause tensions despite Callum’s best peacekeeping efforts.</p><p>He emerges from the bathroom one morning to find a ruck going on in the kitchen, two stags clashing with their antlers lowered.  The picture is somewhat spoiled by the fact they seem to be having a row over the last of the milk, despite Ben’s claims he hasn’t touched it.</p><p>Ben has been on edge for a few days, though Callum has been unable to find out why. Vague statements about being ‘caught up at work’ are the best he gets.  It’s still very early days between them and he daren’t pry any further; and besides, early days though it may be, when it’s just the two of them, alone in their bubble, lost to the rest of the world, that haunted look fades and Ben is all his, soft smile back in place and eyes focused only on him.</p><p>“I’m warning you, Highway--” says Ben, squaring up to the bigger man with one finger held up to his face, a gesture guaranteed to wind him up.  Callum lurches forward in alarm.</p><p>“Yeah?  What are you gonna do, tap dance me to death?” mocks Stuart.  Ben staggers back as if this is a blow he wasn’t expecting.  Then he sees Callum and spins around, grabbing his coat.</p><p>“I’ll get breakfast in the caff.”</p><p>“Wait, Ben--” It’s too late.  Callum sighs at his brother.  “Did you have to?”</p><p>“He started it.”</p><p>“What, are you five?”  He leans against the worktop and frowns at Stuart.  “Why did you say that, ‘tap dance you to death’?”</p><p>“Rainie told me about him,” says Stuart, unconcerned.  “About when he was a kid. He’s into all that stuff, tap dancing, ballet, musicals...ain’t he?”</p><p>“Right,” says Callum, his mind blank. “You can go to the shop and get your own milk, by the way.  I’m going to the caff too.”</p><p>He does so, his face softening as he enters and spots Ben at the table in the corner, one eye on the door.  Ben looks sheepish as he sees him, pushes out a chair with his foot, apologises for the stupid row, offers to buy breakfast.  Callum doesn’t ask questions about what Stuart said.  His courage fails him, not after Ben’s reaction to Stuart’s words.  This relationship, or whatever you’d call it - it’s far too early yet to even call it that, a few dates, a few drinks, a few nights together - is too important to him, as new as it is.  He doesn’t ask about the ‘work’ that’s putting Ben on edge, and he doesn’t ask about the dancing.</p><p>He does ask Jay though, in the office of the funeral parlour, Thursday lunchtime.  It blurts out of him, unexpected.  He’s thinking about the weekend ahead, Ben’s suggestion they go clubbing in Soho, let Callum experience the scene there.  He’s meant to be filling out some paperwork for a Mrs Weaver, but his mind is drifting to an imagined basement club, full of bodies and a thumping beat, and the thought of dancing with Ben for a whole evening, not just a snatched minute or two here and there.  Then his mind fills with Ben, only Ben, always Ben, as it oh so frequently is these days, and the question comes tumbling out before he can stop it.</p><p>“Did Ben used to dance?”</p><p>Jay looks up from his phone, startled.  “Sorry?” he says around a mouthful of sandwich, spraying crumbs.  It’s a busy day for them, and as he’s complained three times already, this is all the lunch break he’s going to get.</p><p>Callum can feel himself blushing but ploughs on.  “I just...someone said something to me, about Ben as a kid.  That he used to dance a bit.  You knew him back then, right?”</p><p>Jay swallows his sandwich and leans back in his chair, regarding Callum thoughtfully.</p><p>“You know what Ben’s like,” adds Callum with a laugh.  “He wouldn’t tell me if I asked.”</p><p>“Nah.  He probably wouldn’t.”  Jay continues to stare, looking unsure.  “He wouldn’t like me talking to you about it either, mate.”</p><p>Callum says nothing, hoping his expression will do his pleading for him.  If anyone can help him unravel the mysteries of Ben Mitchell it’s the man in front of him; he just has to hope that Jay thinks whatever they might have together is worth him fudging his loyalties to Ben a bit.</p><p>After a moment of silent standoff, Jay relents.  “We’re going back years here, all right?  He wouldn’t thank me for talking about this, so you didn’t hear nothing from me.  But yeah, I knew him when he was a kid.  Way back, before the Jordan thing, before he was in the nick the first time round.  He was...different back then.  Anyway, he was into a lot of that stuff - singing, dancing, all that.  It weren’t a secret or nothing, everyone round here knew.  He used ta walk around singing show tunes, did a tap dance thing at some talent show or something once.  But, well, you can imagine what Phil thought of it.”</p><p>Callum can imagine it.  A faint shiver runs up his spine.</p><p>“Gave it all up years ago.  Can’t imagine it goes down too well in the nick, even a juvenile one.  He’s tried to pretend to be into like boxing, football, ya know, over the years for Phil’s sake, but I don’t think he’s bothered these days.  Not that he were ever very convincing.  You ever tried to watch a football match with him?”</p><p>Callum smiles.  “I have, actually.”</p><p>“Well, there you go, then.  Don’t know one end of the pitch from the other.  And when he was a teenager, he was still, ya know, <em>pretending</em>.” Jay grimaces.  “So he couldn’t even make jokes about fit men in shorts, which I think is the only way he gets through footie games these days.”  Jay picks up the rest of his sandwich, eyebrows raised.  “That do ya?”</p><p>Callum isn’t quite done.  “Do you think he still cares about it all?  Dancing and that?”</p><p>Jay shrugs.  “Dunno, mate.  He don’t talk about it.  I don’t ask.”</p><p>They go to Soho that Saturday night and Callum gets to dance with Ben for real.  Callum isn’t much of a dancer himself, he knows that, he’s never quite got the hang of all that controlling his limbs business.  But he loves music and his two left feet have never held him back.  Watching Ben is something else.  Even Callum can tell how he has control of his body in a way Callum never has, how his movements are fluid, how he feels the music.  It’s the sexiest thing Callum’s ever seen.</p><p>Ben catches him staring.  “What?”</p><p>He can barely hear him over the pounding bass.  Callum shakes his head.  “Nothing!”</p><p>Ben grins and pulls him closer, grinding their hips together to the beat.  This is dancing as a prelude to something else; the gay club is packed, the air close and smelling of sweat and sex.  It won’t be long before one of them suggests they get out of here.  It’s somewhere Callum never thought he’d be; and even though, in his heart, he’d maybe prefer to be curled up on the sofa at home with Ben in his arms, it’s still exciting and exhilarating and a rush unlike anything he’s ever felt.</p><p>They leave not long after that, a drunk and happy Ben singing the refrain of the last song they heard all the way to the tube station, pitch perfect.  Callum files that one away for future reference too.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Yet you stand there and shake your foolish head dramatically</em><br/>
<em>While I wait here so ecstatically</em>
</p><p> </p><p>They spend a whole weekend together in those early days, wrapped up in each other, learning the new language that is <em>them</em>.  Life outside of <em>them</em> has been complicated, pressures and other people getting in the way, and their own homes are full of noise and interruptions, awkward, half-dressed encounters with blundering brothers and small children.  The Mitchell house is free however, its occupants away for a bit of sunshine before the autumn fades, and they make the most of the final few days of an empty home.</p><p>It’s everything to Callum.  All those years of living a grey, half-life, and now the world has exploded into colour.  By the Sunday morning he is sated, full of an emotion that he dares not put a name to, even in the safety of his own mind.  It will be a few months before he gathers the courage to say it out loud.</p><p>He emerges from the shower late on Sunday morning, so late it’s practically afternoon, for they’ve been doing everything slowly all weekend - late breakfasts, slow kisses, indulgent hours in bed while the world gets up around them - and throws on some clothes, not bothering with the usual routine for his hair.  He goes downstairs to find Ben stretched out on the sofa, hands resting on his exposed stomach, eyes on the television.  The volume has been turned up loud.</p><p>Callum turns his own eyes to the TV, where an old black and white film is playing.  A man in a top hat and tailcoat is doing an elaborate tap dance in front of a fake looking set.  It’s a moment before Callum realises Ben is humming along with the music in a way that suggests he knows every note.</p><p>Noticing Callum’s presence, Ben scrambles upright.  “Didn’t see you there.  What do you fancy doing?”  He reaches out for the remote control, perched on the coffee table, but Callum is faster, snatching it up on his way to the sofa.</p><p>“You’re all right, let’s watch this.  What is it?”</p><p>Ben shrugs, watching him warily.  “Some old movie.”</p><p>“Let’s watch it, I want to.”  He takes a firm grip on the remote control and sinks back into the sofa cushions.  After a beat, Ben relaxes his own shoulders, still looking at Callum and not the screen.</p><p>“I’ve never seen this,” says Callum, as casual as he can.  His heart is hammering though and he prays Ben can’t hear it.  “We didn’t watch movies like this in my house growing up.  Well, you can imagine.”  He doesn’t need to elaborate, Ben has met Jonno and Stuart.  “What about you, did you like stuff like this when you were a kid?”</p><p>Ben turns to confront him full on, face like thunder.  “All right, who told you.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Jay?  Mum?  Ian?  I bet it was Ian.”  He swallows and looks away.  “Go on, then, do your worst.”</p><p>“Okay, someone might have said something...”</p><p>Ben nods, his jaw set.  He doesn’t meet Callum’s eyes.</p><p>Callum reaches out and gently touches his knee.  “I’m not gonna take the piss, Ben.  I’d never do that to you, ever.  I just...wanna know about it.  About you.”</p><p>Ben glances at the TV, shrugs.  “We’re all into stupid shit when we’re kids, we grow out of it.”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s stupid. Why would I?”  Callum nods at the TV.  “Have you seen this before?  Tell me about it.”</p><p>“It’s just a film,” says Ben, rolling his eyes.  He looks back at Callum and his face softens.  “It’s...it’s <em>Top Hat</em>.  It’s a classic.  I used to have it on DVD.  When I was a kid...” He takes a deep breath; then it’s as if the floodgates have opened.</p><p>“When I was a kid, I had loads of DVDs and CDs.  Musicals, that kind of stuff, you know.  I liked the dancing and the music.  My Gran were soft, she encouraged it, I did some dance classes for a bit.  My Dad hated it.  ‘Lads like football’, ‘lads like boxing’.  Well, he weren’t wrong, was he?  When I got out of prison, the first time round, they were all gone, all my DVDs and music and whatnot.  He probably threw them out as soon as I got sent down.  Or else Gran took ‘em and they got destroyed in the fire, either way.”</p><p>“Fire?”</p><p>Ben smiles, grim.  “Yeah, Gran was running the Vic back then.  My dad set fire to it while I was inside.”</p><p>“He what?” For a moment, Callum thinks Ben is winding him up, but Ben is laughing in the way that means he’s deadly serious.</p><p>“You’ve never seen my dad when he’s back on the booze, have you?  Pray you never do...  Anyway.  Whatever.  He’d kept my football boots though.  They didn’t fit me any more.  I never replaced any of my musicals and stuff.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Come on, Callum, I was fourteen! I’d grown out of all that shit by then.”  He was smiling, but it wasn’t the soft, genuine smile Callum had become used to and woken up to the last two mornings.  This was a smile he didn’t want to ever see on Ben’s face.</p><p>“Besides,” Ben went on, “Gran had gone by then and I were living with Dad again.  No films in that house.  You watched sport, or you played video games, or you went down the pub.  Those were yer choices.  Anyway, I was back inside in a year or two, and you’d be <em>amazed</em> how popular tap dancing, musical loving kids with glasses and a hearing aid aren’t in the nick.”</p><p>There’s a pause.  Callum wishes he was better with words.  “You can stream all that sort of thing these days,” he says, clearing his throat.</p><p>Ben smiles softly at him.  “We all have to grow up sometime, babe.”</p><p><em>Babe</em>.  It’s not the first time Ben has called him that, but it’s the first time he’s said it fully-dressed in casual conversation rather than you might call the heat of the moment.  It feels like a seal on the discussion, a confirmation that Ben doesn’t regret letting him know this about himself.  This weekend has changed something between them, even if they’re not putting words to it yet.  Callum feels his cheeks flush pink.</p><p>He clutches the remote control with firm fingers and settles back down on the sofa again.  “Well, I want to watch this.”</p><p>“You don’t have to--” begins Ben wearily.</p><p>“I want to watch it,” repeats Callum, “come on.”  He holds out an arm. Ben’s eyes watch him, guarded, before he shrugs and climbs into the embrace.  It takes only a minute or two before Callum feels Ben relax, his body going limp as he curls into Callum’s side.</p><p>Callum attempts to watch the movie in silence but they’ve missed a good chunk already and after a few minutes he has to admit to having no idea what’s going on.</p><p>He feels Ben chuckle through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.  “Okay.  Well, basically, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers are in love with each other, but <em>she</em> thinks that he’s married to her best friend.”</p><p>“But he isn’t?”</p><p>“No, and he doesn’t realise that she thinks that.”</p><p>Callum stares at the screen, confused.  “Why doesn’t she just <em>ask </em>him about it?”</p><p>Ben chuckles again, his fingers drawing idle patterns over Callum’s arm, held loosely over his chest.  “Because, babe, all these movies would be incredibly short if Fred and Ginger ever just talked to each other about how they were feeling.”  He lifts Callum’s hand and presses a gentle kiss to the palm before pulling the arm more tightly around himself.</p><p>As Fred Astaire starts to sing on the television, Ginger’s eyes sparkling softly, Ben joins in, under his breath, his own eyes half closed in blissful, total relaxation.</p><p>“<em>Heaven, I’m in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak...”</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I won’t dance, don’t ask me</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Ben lets him in a little more after that.  It’s not a huge, overnight change, but gradual.  He stops changing the channel when Callum catches him watching old movies or cheesy musicals.  Stops hiding his Spotify playlists from Callum’s eyes. Starts dancing along to songs on the radio in Callum’s presence; bursts into a loud and theatrical rendition of ‘Elephant Love Medley’ from <em>Moulin Rouge</em> one morning to an empty flat; tunes in to <em>Elaine Paige on Sunday</em> on Radio 2 one day and resists all attempts to change the station over.</p><p>Callum realises that there’s a tight circle of people in Ben’s life who get to see this side of him, and he’s now been added to it.  Jay, Lola and Lexi all appear to be on the list. Kathy possibly is, he isn’t sure. Phil almost certainly isn’t.</p><p>Stuart definitely isn’t.  When he’s in the flat with them, or they’re around anyone else not in that exclusive club, Ben changes.  The mask is fixed back in place, the swagger’s back, that leather-jacketed tough guy armour is on.  The show tunes are gone.  Callum sees, and understands, and says nothing.</p><p><em>Uptown Funk</em> comes on the radio while they’re washing up one evening late in November; or rather, Callum is washing up, Ben is supposedly drying, but is mainly using the opportunity to slide his arms around Callum’s waist from behind, make a string of increasingly filthy jokes, and flick at his arse with the tea towel.  He leans across Callum to turn up the volume as the song starts, then begins to sing along, dancing around the kitchen, full of excess energy.</p><p>Callum chuckles as he turns to watch him.  “Well, that’s going to get the clearing up done faster...”</p><p>“<em>Gotta kiss myself, I’m so pretty</em>,” sings Ben.  He throws a few complicated steps into the choreography before sliding smoothly across the kitchen floor and grabbing Callum around the waist, pulling him into the dance.</p><p>Callum protests, indicating his wet and soapy hands, but his heart isn’t in it.  The space is small, and their legs tangle together when he fails to follow Ben’s lead, and they pull apart after a minute or two, giggling like schoolkids, but the feeling of Ben’s body pressed against his is like electricity running through him.</p><p>“You ever thought about taking up dancing again?” says Callum, when Ben finally releases his grip and shuffles <em>1,2,3 </em>away, still singing.  “You’re so good.”</p><p>He stops singing. Stops moving too, other than reaching out an arm to turn the volume back down again.  “Don’t be fucking stupid.”</p><p>Callum suspects he’s on dangerous ground here but perseveres.  “There’s lots of classes for adults, loads of people do it...”</p><p>“You just wanna see me in a pair of tights, don’t ya? And here was me thinking you wanted me for my mind. But hey, if that’s what you’re into, I’m happy to show off the goods for ya anytime, babe...”</p><p>“I’m <em>serious</em>, Ben. Why not?”</p><p>“Thought you weren’t trying to make me into someone I ain’t?” says Ben.  There’s a warning note in his voice.  “I’m already going legit for you, Callum.  Don’t start taking the mick.”</p><p>“I’m not--”</p><p>“Just leave it.” Ben rescues his tea towel from where he dropped it on the worktop and begins to dry plates in dark silence.</p><p>Callum doesn’t pursue it, or mention the musical theatre dance workshops he’s already looked at online, away from Walford but only a short tube ride away.  Perhaps he’ll have a better chance after Christmas, with Ben in a more relaxed, festive mood.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>My heart won’t let my feet do things they should do</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The accident on the Thames changes everything.</p><p>Of course it does.  It’s trite to say it.  It’s a bomb exploding in the middle of their lives, shattering the fragile calm they’ve been weaving around themselves as they rebuild their relationship.</p><p>There’s no thoughts of dancing in either of their heads for the longest time afterwards.  In those very first days and weeks, though Callum would never say it, it feels like a victory on the days when Ben gets out of bed at all.</p><p>There’s no dancing round the living room with Lexi before school.  She spends her precious Daddy/Daughter time patiently teaching her stubborn Dad signs she’s learned from CBeebies instead, and if it wasn’t for her, he might not have learned any sign at all in those early days.</p><p>There’s no singing along with the radio while they do the washing up together any more.  Instead there’s denial, grief, rows and recriminations, constant edging along the tightrope of Ben’s mood swings; but there’s love and support too, and although it sometimes feels like one step forward, two steps back, they make progress of sorts.</p><p>“Let’s dance,” Callum blurts out, one night as they sit in E20.  It was Ben’s suggestion that they go out, but all he’s done since they got to the club is sit in silence, staring morosely into the depths of his whisky, not even wanting to drink it.  It tears at Callum’s heart as they sit there.</p><p>He knows why Ben made the suggestion.  Some desperate need to prove himself, to not be a burden, holding Callum back.  Callum had mentioned going for beers with some of his new work colleagues tomorrow and had immediately regretted it, Ben’s face freezing in fear at the thought; he wasn’t ready, not to meet new people in a crowded, noisy pub, unable to join in with the conversations around him.</p><p>They’ve switched roles since the accident.  It used to be Ben pushing for late nights, loud music, crowded clubs, while Callum would plump for a quiet night on the sofa nine times out of ten.  Ben’s reluctance to leave the safety of the four pink walls of the flat above the funeral parlour pulls at Callum’s soul even as he indulges it, knowing Ben needs more time.  But Ben seems on edge tonight, even more so than he has been, and he reacted to Callum’s mention of swerving the drinks and staying in instead with a loud, defensive, “Let’s go out!”, fleeing out the door before Callum had even had a chance to drink his tea.</p><p>Callum hadn’t suggested he stay home and cook for them tomorrow out of duty or pity or obligation.  He wants to spend time with Ben.  He always wants to spend time with Ben.  He will always choose spending time with Ben over spending time apart, checking his phone for texts every few seconds, counting down the minutes until he can respectably leave and return home to him.  He doesn’t know how to convince Ben that this is true.</p><p>“Let’s dance.” Callum repeats the suggestion, seeing the confusion on Ben’s face, clasping his large hand around Ben’s smaller one with gentle care.</p><p>“To what? I don’t know what’s playing, Callum, I can’t hear the music.”  His voice is resigned, defeated.</p><p>Callum could kick himself.  The suggestion was made with the best of intentions.  He misses dancing with Ben, he misses the joy and freedom that shines from Ben’s face when he dances.  He knows Ben can’t hear the music, not in the way he used to, but the bass of the EDM is reverberating around them in the half-empty club and he’d hoped with Ben’s limited ability to hear some sounds, he might be able to feel the vibrations of the beat at least.</p><p>The expression on Ben’s face is making him feel like the biggest heel in the world right now though.  He thinks for a moment, then holds up an index finger.  “Hold on.”  He recognises the song currently playing, a Rudimental track, and it takes only a second to Google it.</p><p>He holds out his phone screen for Ben to see.  Alas, it has the opposite effect to the one he intended.  Ben no longer looks dead-eyed and resigned, but his eyes narrow and he’s looking pissed off instead.</p><p>“I’m not dancing to lyrics on a screen.”</p><p>Callum sighs.  It’s as he’s looking around, trying to think, that he sees the speaker in the corner of his eye and inspiration strikes him.  Barely able to contain his excitement, he leaps to his feet, one hand outstretched. </p><p>“Come on.”</p><p>Ben’s shaking his head. “I’m not in the mood.”</p><p>But Callum’s having none of it.  He’s excited, he knows this will work.  “<em>Ben</em>.  Get up.”</p><p>Ben immediately reaches out and takes his hand, though his face is still set in a scowl, and Callum grins wide in delight, rubbing his thumb over their interlinked hands before pulling Ben to his feet.</p><p>He can’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him before.  He’s read so many articles and blog posts by deaf writers in the last few weeks, subscribed to newsletters, read every website he can find on his phone in his lunchbreak at work or when Ben isn’t looking.  He’s bookmarked dozens of links, maybe more, ready to send to Ben in the days ahead when they might get a better reception.  And he’s read about this, somewhere, feeling music through vibrations on a speaker.  He should have done this before.</p><p>Callum leads Ben over to the speaker, ignoring his murmured “What you doing?” and the nervous chuckle that follows.  It sounds odd coming from Ben, not a sound he’s often heard from him.  Ben always likes to be in control, or at least to give that impression, and the knowledge that he’s handing that control over to Callum, trusting him completely, means more to Callum than he could ever put into words.  He’s not good with words, never has been.  But words aren’t the only way to communicate.</p><p>He meets Ben’s eyes.  “Feel it.”</p><p>Ben stares at him, doubtful.</p><p>Callum clasps Ben’s wrist, bringing one arm closer to the front of the speaker, his other hand firm on Ben’s back, and repeats himself.  “<em>Feel </em>it.”</p><p>Callum drops his own hand and steps back slightly, totally confident in Ben’s unwavering trust in him that he’ll do as he’s told, despite the dubious expression on the younger man’s face.  Ben’s eyes dart around for a moment, as if he’s looking for an escape route, but he does it, reaching out and placing one hand on the speaker.  He rests his head against it too, closing his eyes while Callum watches him in nervous excitement.</p><p>It’s like blue skies spreading across the horizon, chasing away the grey.  Pure, distilled joy spreads across his face, a deep, blissful contentment that Callum can feel mirrored in his own heart, warmth rising from his belly and filling his chest.</p><p>Ben opens his eyes and turns to Callum, his face saying everything that needs to be said.  He felt the music.  They grin at each other in a bubble of total happiness.</p><p>But all bubbles get popped eventually, and theirs is shattered when Ben’s eyes slide to one side and spot a table of young women staring and laughing behind their hands.  Callum had been so focused on Ben that he hadn’t even noticed them.  His heart drops with a thud as Ben’s face closes off, the shutters clanging down.</p><p>“Let’s go home,” snaps Ben.  The light has gone, replaced by the brooding dark again.</p><p>He stalks off without waiting to see if Callum is even following; and Callum follows with heavy feet.  What else can he do?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You know what; you’re lovely</em><br/>
<em>And so what; I’m lovely?</em><br/>
<em>But oh, what you do to me</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The thought of Ben’s face for that too brief moment doesn’t leave him though.  He’s determined to see it light up like that again one day, whatever it takes.</p><p>Life gets in the way first though, as it always does.  Ben seems to take a turn for the worse after that night and whatever’s going on with his dad.  Callum knows there’s something, or <em>was</em> something.  But he doesn’t pursue it, not now.  Worry <em>about</em> Ben, not about what Ben may or may not be up to is at the top of the list of priorities first.  Blood on his pillow, a fever that won’t go away, but worse than either of those is Ben’s mood; he seems to have completely shut down, the slow progress they were making going back another three steps (or thirty).</p><p>Callum’s so wrapped up in Ben he barely pays attention to the grim news coming out of Europe, the virus that everyone ignored when it was something happening somewhere over <em>there</em> beginning to cause panic and lockdowns nearer to home.  He’s more focused on thoughts of how to keep Ben away from Phil, vague musings about maybe asking Tina to lend him the Albert’s sound system, secret plans about getting a place of their own one day, after the operation - and how to present those plans to Ben without him having a total meltdown about it - that the email about moving his training classes entirely online due to expected coronavirus restrictions comes almost completely out of the blue.  Things seem to happen at terrifying speed after that.</p><p>Lockdown is hard.</p><p>Callum arranges a Zoom call with Frankie a few weeks in.  He’s not left the confines of the flat since the day lockdown began except for the prescribed daily half hour exercise - a quick jog around the park and back through the Square early every morning when the streets are quiet - and a trip to the bigger supermarket on the high street every few days for supplies.  It’s hard to concentrate on his textbooks, so he puts his energies into keeping the flat running instead, looking after little Abi during the day while Rainie and Stuart are at work, doing virtually all of the shopping, cooking and cleaning.</p><p>He also throws himself back into his beginner BSL tutorials with a vengeance.  He tries to gently suggest to Ben via text that being stuck at home might be the perfect opportunity to start properly learning some sign language, but no reply comes.  He doesn’t raise it again when they video call together.  Ben looks dreadful, worse every time he calls him - the fever may be gone, but he’s clearly not been sleeping.  Callum knows how he feels.  Sleeping alone is harder than he thought it was going to be, and he knew it was going to be pretty damn hard.</p><p>He arranges the call with Frankie as an excuse to practise some sign language, but it’s partly also just to see and talk to someone different, a bit of variety from the same routine.  It’s been just over three weeks since lockdown started, but somehow seems to have been both forever and yet no time at all.</p><p>Frankie beams at him cheerfully as she appears on the screen, signing and speaking ‘<em>hello</em>’ with a wave of her hand.  No sound comes through however.</p><p>“I think you’re muted, Frankie?”</p><p>‘<em>Oh, hang on</em>,’ her lips seem to say, and she clicks.  “Better?”</p><p>“That’s it!”</p><p>“Well, now you know what it’s like.”  She’s laughing at him and he can’t help but laugh back, his heart lifting a bit.  Life with only Stuart, Rainie and two-year-old Abi for company has been getting him down.  Stuart has recently decided that Callum needs ‘cheering up’ and has instigated family boardgame nights, waving aside Callum’s horrified protests.</p><p>“Nice to see you.  How are you?”  He signs as he speaks, carefully making the gestures he’s practised in advance, and she looks proud and amused.</p><p>“Not bad.  Bit weird, all this, innit?  Where’s grumpy pants?  Thought he might be joining us.”  She makes a dramatic gesture at ‘grumpy pants’, clutching her hand down across her face while she scrunches her mouth up to one side.  Callum copies it and she cackles.</p><p>“’Grumpy pants’ isn’t doing so well, to be honest.  Not gonna lie, I’m a bit worried about him.  He’s at home with his dad, who’s--” Callum sighed.  “--a bit of a nightmare.  Wish we knew how long this lockdown thing is gonna last.”</p><p>Frankie frowned at him.  “Thought you lived together?”</p><p>“We sort of did,” said Callum with a laugh and a shrug.  “But not officially.  Ben’s got a little girl, he lives with her and her mum in Ben’s dad’s house.  They’re shielding because of Phil’s health problems, I’ve been dropping off food for them.  I’m technically a key worker, even though I’m only training?  I’ve had an email saying they’re holding off on sending us new recruits out on the streets right now, but if this goes on for a while we’ll still be starting on-the-job training at some point soon, so this just made the most sense, for us both to stay at home.”</p><p>Frankie nods in understanding.  “I’m sorry. Must be crap.”</p><p>“Yeah, well.”  He smiles because otherwise, to his horror, he thinks he might actually cry.  How strange.  He shakes his head in a quick motion to get rid of the prickly feeling behind his eyeballs and asks, “How about you?  You live at home, right?”</p><p>“Yeah.  My mum’s driving me bonkers.  She’s scheduling every minute of the day, like she’s scared if we don’t fill every second with ‘improving activities’, we’re wasting quarantine, you know?  But I’m like, Mum.  It’s a pandemic.  It’s okay if I just want to spend a morning in bed watching YouTube videos.”  Frankie makes a face and Callum laughs.  She’s signing as she talks - not all the time, but words or phrases here and there - and he watches as she goes and tries to remember what he can.</p><p>“Never mind me, though,” she goes on, “what about your boy? How are we going to get him through this?  You got him learning sign yet?”</p><p>Callum spreads his hands in a hopeless gesture.</p><p>Frankie thinks for a moment, then her face lights up.  “I don’t have Ben’s number...Start a WhatsApp group, add me and Ben to it.”</p><p>“Why?” says Callum, reaching for his phone.</p><p>“I’m gonna send you both some links.  Everyone clicks on links on their phone, right?  However cool you think you are, especially if you’re bored and stuck at home.” She sees his dubious face and smiles.  “Don’t worry, nothing heavy.  Some funny YouTube videos - with subtitles, obviously - and hey, oops, I also accidentally linked to some stuff from Deaf content creators who use sign language, how silly of me, oh well, too late now...”</p><p>“He’ll see right through that,” he warns her, but he’s smiling and already setting up the group on his phone.</p><p>“I can be subtle!  What kind of stuff is he into? Like interests, hobbies?”  She reaches for a pen and waits expectantly while Callum thinks.</p><p>“Dunno.  Anything, really.  Well, not sport, though I am... He likes cars, he’s into video games, we both are.  We watch a lot of TV...”  Callum pauses for a second.  Frankie’s not in the inner circle; but what’s Ben going to do, dump him over Zoom in the middle of a pandemic for revealing his secrets?  He takes a deep breath and plunges on.  “He is - or, well, he <em>was</em> - very into his music, dancing, old films, musicals, that kind of thing.”</p><p>“What do you mean, ‘was’?  Deaf people can dance, Callum, it’s my ears that don’t work good, not my arms and legs.”</p><p>“Oh, god, sorry, I didn’t mean--” He begins to bluster out apologies, then stutters to a stop, seeing her face.  “You were joking.”</p><p>“Kinda.” She’s openly laughing at him now.  “I get what you meant.  I’ll have a think, send you both some stuff.”</p><p>Callum’s phone buzzes beside him and he picks it up to find a message from Ben.  Not sent to the group he’s just set up with both of them and Frankie, but a private message just to him.</p><p>
  <em>Not exactly subtle, babe.  x</em>
</p><p>“Ah.  You might have your work cut out.  I think he might have seen through us already.”</p><p>He replies to the text: <em>I thought you liked Frankie? She’s sending me a link, thought you might want to see it too.  x</em></p><p>Ben doesn’t reply.</p><p>He doesn’t reply to any of the links Frankie sends through either over the next few weeks, though Callum makes an effort to watch or read everything she sends and to respond to it, hoping Ben’s clicking on the links even if he’s not talking.  Ben does join in the chat a little when it wanders off in other directions though, especially once Frankie starts ranting about government failings, Ben happy to egg her on.</p><p>It's some weeks, probably longer before Callum sees Ben in person again - he’s not sure, time seems to have no meaning in this weird twilight world they’re living in.  They sit at either end of a picnic table in the park, diagonally opposite each other, carefully keeping that two metre distance.  They’re making small talk and it’s horrible.</p><p>Ben has lost weight and it’s shocking to Callum.  Everyone else he knows has put on weight during this lockdown; he’s done it himself, comfort eating his way through crisps and biscuits and drinking far too many cans of lager while he attempts to get through another evening of watching TV with Stuart and Rainie all over each other, missing Ben so much it’s like a physical ache in his chest.</p><p>But Ben is pale and almost skeletal, his T-shirt hanging off him.  He’s not been eating, and that knowledge stabs Callum somewhere under the ribs more effectively than anything else could have done.  Ben <em>loves </em>food, gets almost the same joy and pleasure out of it that he does from sex, music, dancing, life.  The noises he makes when he attacks a burger with all the trimmings are obscene, Callum swears he almost came once just from hearing them.</p><p>He looks at Ben across the table and the dull ache in his heart flares up into a sharp pain at the thought of not being able to reach out and hug him.  He wonders briefly if he’s going to have to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching across the table.</p><p>“How’s your dad?” says Callum eventually, once the topics of Lexi, Lola, Jay, Stuart and Rainie, work, and ‘it’s a bit weird all this, innit?’ have been extinguished.  He’s surprised to find the video calls were actually easier in a way, more like talking to Ben of old.  Being this close to Ben and not able to touch him is so unnatural it’s making them both stiff and formal, like they’re acting out some kind of play.</p><p>Ben grunts, partly in surprise - Phil is not a favourite topic of conversation between them.  “Not happy.  I think he’s had enough of shielding at home, not sure he really believes he needs to take this seriously.”  His tone is dry, and Callum can read between the lines to picture the frustrating arguments Ben has no doubt had with his father, trying to persuade Phil of his own vulnerability.  He winces in sympathy.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Silence falls for a short while.  Ben’s phone buzzes from where it’s laid on the picnic table in front of him, and he picks it up, smiling at whatever he sees.</p><p>“You seen that video Frankie sent the other day?” he asks abruptly.  “The dancer.”</p><p>Callum wracked his brains.  Frankie sent a <em>lot</em> of videos.  Now he was actually out at work, having started his on job training, rather than stuck at home, he didn’t have the time or energy to watch all of them in the way he did before.  “You mean a while back, those alternative to ‘P.E. with Joe’ ones?”  These had been a short series of videos done by a Deaf dance group as exercise videos for people in lockdown, signed and subtitled, in response to the fact the popular Joe Wicks series and most similar videos were without subtitles.</p><p>“Nah, this was just a couple of days ago.  Same group though.”  To Callum’s surprise, Ben loads up the video on his phone and passes it over.  Callum watches the video, a toned and supple male dancer performing a routine to a hip hop track.  He doesn’t know a lot about dancing, couldn’t name the style or the exact movements he’s performing, but he’s clearly very talented, both graceful and powerful.</p><p>“Deaf from birth,” says Ben, more to the table than to Callum, not meeting his eye.  “Has never really heard the music, not in the way we - you - do.  Can feel the beat and the bass though.  He’s got a cochlear implant, you can just about see it in the vid.”</p><p>Callum peered closer and spotted it.  “That’s amazing...I mean,” he corrects himself, “<em>he’s</em> amazing. What a talent.”  He passes the phone back.  “I didn’t think you watched any of the videos Frankie sends,” he adds.  “You never respond.”</p><p>Ben looks affronted.  “I do!  I sent a thumbs up to that one.  Just cos you think you need to write an essay every time, <em>old man</em>.”  They both laugh, and the tension finally breaks.</p><p>Ben continues to fiddles with his phone for a bit, looking back down at the table rather than Callum.  “Ever think we’re cursed?” he says eventually, glancing back up.  He’s clearly going for jokey in tone, but not quite hitting it.</p><p>“Ben...”</p><p>“First a fever, then a global pandemic...What’s next, plague of locusts?”  He stares back down at his hands, begins to twirl the ring on his left hand round and round.  “This operation’s never gonna happen.”</p><p>“Ben...”</p><p>“They were talking on the news about maybe making everyone wear face masks in public, I can’t understand anyone as it is, how the hell am I meant to cope if I can’t even see anyone’s lips?”</p><p>“Ben!”  But Ben isn’t looking at him, and Callum isn’t allowed to touch him to get his attention.  He settles for leaning across the table so he can wave a hand in Ben’s field of vision.  “This lockdown isn’t going to last forever,” he says, slowly and clearly so Ben can follow every word.  “Your operation <em>is </em>going to happen.  And you’ve got me, every step of the way; before, during, after.  Whatever happens.  Promise.”</p><p>Ben risks a shaky and slightly watery grin.  “I really miss you,” he breathes out.</p><p>Callum blinks in surprise; he doesn’t say it very often.  “Me too.  You have <em>no</em> idea.”</p><p>“You’ve not found a handsome bobby at the station to take your mind off it, then?” says Ben, once again failing to hit that jokey tone he’s going for by a country mile.</p><p>Callum automatically reaches out then has to stop himself, remembering just in time to pull his hand back with a groan.  “Don’t be a muppet.  Who else could compare, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I’m like an ocean wave that’s bumped on the shore</em><br/>
<em>I feel so absolutely stumped on the floor</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>It’s several months before Callum sees the video of the dancer again, and it’s once again on Ben’s phone when he does.  They’re sat in a hospital waiting room, waiting to be called into Dr Laghari’s office.  If Ben gets the all-clear, this will be activation day, the moment where they turn on the implant that was embedded into his skull a few weeks earlier, run a whole battery of tests, see what he can hear yet through the processor if anything, give him a long list of instructions to start with.  Perhaps the reality of the situation has overwhelmed them a little because they’ve lapsed into silence, sat side by side, both staring at their phones.  Kathy is sitting across the room, doing likewise.</p><p>Callum glances at the face next to him, trying to read the expression, then looks down at the phone, recognising the video as the one Frankie sent them all those months ago, though there’s no sound.  The dancer is swirling round, never ceasing his movements as he draws shapes through the air.  Ben is chewing on one side of his lip as he watches, a nervous gesture Callum recognises.</p><p>Callum reaches out a hand and softly touches the back of Ben’s neck.</p><p>“Hey.”  Ben pauses the video and looks up, meeting Callum’s eyes.  “You okay?” Callum asks, signing as he speaks.</p><p>Ben gives a half-shrug, a tiny movement of the shoulder. There’s a pause.  “What if it doesn’t work?”</p><p>“Remember what he said, it’s going to take time.  Could be months, even a year, maybe even longer. You need to give it time.  But if it then still doesn’t work out like you hoped...then we’ll work things out together.  You and me,” says Callum, serene and confident; and the confidence is genuine, though he couldn’t tell you where it comes from.  But after everything they’ve been through, after spending months isolated from each other, unable to touch, Ben subject to Phil’s toxic influence at all hours of the day and night, he is absolutely certain that if they could get through that, they could get through anything.  He has Ben back now, and that’s all that matters. </p><p>They’re planning to move into one of Jack’s properties, the small bedsit in number 5 that Ruby used to live in; it’s not very big for the two of them, but it gets Ben away from Phil and that’s the most important thing as far as Callum is concerned.  The fact that Callum was able to persuade Ben to make the move with barely any freaking out at all over the commitment implications was a sign of just how tough he’d found it, being locked down with his dad.</p><p>Across the room, Kathy has looked up from her phone and is watching them, a smile on her lips.</p><p>Ben doesn’t respond to Callum’s statement, but slides a hand into one of Callum’s, interlinking their fingers.  After a pause, he says, “I never thanked Frankie.  Not just for coming round with cake the other day I mean, for everything.  Keeping me cheered up during lockdown...”</p><p>“It’s never too late,” says Callum.  “Send her a text now.”</p><p>Ben gives him a withering look that makes it clear he’s not going to be doing that, and Callum gives him his best death stare right back, a smile hovering at the corners of his lips.  Two can play at that game.</p><p>They sit in silence for a moment, Ben rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of Callum’s hand as they wait.  Eventually, more words burst out of him, but barely above a whisper, as though he doesn’t want to say them but can’t hold them back any longer.</p><p>“What if I never hear music properly again?”</p><p>Callum has no answer to that and he doesn’t try to give one.  After a long pause, Ben takes his hand back, returning his attention to his phone while he chews the thumbnail on his free hand.  The dancer in the video unfreezes and springs to life again, spinning and leaping, ending his dance with a flourish.  He waves at the camera and signs a short ‘thank you, please like and subscribe’ message before the screen goes blank.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ah, but when you dance you’re charming and you’re gentle</em><br/>
<em>Especially when you do the Continental...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It takes time, as Dr Laghari warned it would.  Callum suspects that however much Ben had nodded and protested his understanding in the audiologist’s office all those months ago, answering the questions correctly that <em>of course he understands this isn’t an easy fix and will take time to adjust and isn’t like getting his old hearing back, even if it works at all</em> so that they’d go ahead with the operation, a part of him had been in denial, or hoping that he’d be one of the lucky ones and the effects would be almost instant for him.</p><p>Instead, the road is long and often frustrating.  Ben doesn’t cope well with frustration, as both of them know.  Callum’s hours are long and he needs to study outside of his shifts, with regular exams and assessments.  Managing Ben’s mood swings and outbursts on top of that is draining, and both of their tempers often fray around the edges as the winter months go by.</p><p>Perhaps it was a mistake, moving in together, Callum sometimes wonders, but guiltily, in secret.  Cooped up together in the tiny flat, no space to get away from each other when Ben is struggling and his temper boils over, yet again.  Callum’s patient, and understanding, because he knows how hard Ben is working to get back to normal - whatever normal is - and he knows where the frustration and anger comes from.  Ben’s exhausted and suffers a lot with headaches in those early weeks, the most ordinary, everyday noises sometimes feeling so loud for him that it’s painful.  But that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to live with, especially when Callum’s tired himself and worn out from long shifts and hours spent poring over textbooks.</p><p>But Ben, for his part, much as he sometimes rails and shouts and drinks and says hurtful things, seems to know where the boundaries are, now.  There’s no dodgy jobs with Phil, not that Callum can tell anyway. No joyrides, no stolen cars.  There’s a few benders and all night drinking sessions, but they all end the same way; with Ben staggering home alone, usually with a portion of chips in hand, collapsing on their bed and snoring gently.</p><p>The constant, niggling fear that’s been in Callum’s chest ever since he started this job, if he’s honest with himself, that one day he’s going to walk into the station to find his boyfriend in one of the cells - or worse, have to arrest Ben <em>himself</em> - begins to fade.</p><p>Winter turns to spring and things improve a little, day by day.  Ben’s getting used to the implant, sounds beginning to make sense, able now to pick out the ones he wants to hear from the general cacophony.  Music doesn’t quite sound the same as it once did, not yet, but he can at least <em>hear</em> music again for really the first time since the accident.  The radio is back on - turned up loud, with plenty of bass - while they do the washing up, even if he’s not singing along yet.</p><p>The world around them has been getting something closer to normal too; the virus hasn’t gone away, but most activities and events are running again as best they can.  Callum is sitting sprawled on the sofa one Sunday morning, scrolling idly through one of his favourite blogs on his phone, when he sees a link to something that makes him shout and leap to his feet.  He glances around, but of course, Ben is out, spending some one-on-one time with Lexi in the park.</p><p>After a moment’s excited thought, he texts Frankie instead, telling her to come over as soon as she can for a cup of tea.</p><p>She arrives half an hour later, obviously confused and slightly curious.  “What’s the emergency?  There’d better be cake...”</p><p>He provides tea and manages to scrounge up some individually wrapped Mr Kipling from the back of the cupboard before sitting down at the kitchen table with her and passing over his phone.</p><p>“Have a look at this.”</p><p>She looks at the phone, but enlightenment doesn’t seem to have dawned.  “It’s a workshop.”</p><p>He reaches out to grab her attention, so that she can see him as he talks.  “It’s a workshop run by that Deaf dancer.  The one you sent me and Ben videos of?  Months ago, like, god, probably nearly a year ago now.  Ben probably never said anything, you know Ben, but he loves that guy, he watches his videos on Facebook all the time.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” She looks back at the phone with slightly more interest now, reading out the details.  “‘For beginners; designed for deaf/hard of hearing dancers, but hearing participants also welcome.’  Sounds cool.  You and Ben gonna go?”</p><p>“I was kind of hoping,” says Callum slowly, “that <em>you</em> might like to go.  And also talk Ben into going with you.  And make him think it was all your idea.”</p><p>Frankie laughs, head on one side.  “You’re kidding.  No.”</p><p>“Please?”  He knows he probably sounds a bit pathetic, but he also knows what this will mean to Ben if he can just be persuaded into signing up.  “If it comes from me, he won’t do it - he’ll think he’s being patronised.  But if <em>you</em> say you really want to do it, but you don’t want to go alone, so he thinks he’s doing you a favour...”</p><p>“Won’t he see through that?” says Frankie, looking dubious.  “He saw through all our really subtle attempts to get him to learn sign language last summer...”</p><p>Callum thinks for a moment.  “Maybe.  But it sort of worked in the end, didn’t it?”  Ben had never said anything directly, but Callum was surprised to discover how much sign language he’d picked up over the course of lockdown.  A conversation with Lola had finally revealed that he’d signed up to an online beginner’s BSL course in the end, as had she.</p><p>There’s a pause while Frankie chews the inside of her lip, staring at the phone.  “I can’t dance.”</p><p>Callum grins, knowing he’s got her.  “Neither can I.  I don’t think it matters.”</p><p>Ben sees right through it, of course, once he gets back an hour later.  He doesn’t let on to Frankie while she’s still there though, allowing her to talk him into going along to the workshop after putting up a bit of a token resistance at first, even booking their slots on his phone before she leaves.  He has a clear soft spot for Frankie, going right back to their first meeting, and Callum feels a little guilty for taking advantage of it - although not much.  Ben’s world has become narrow, insular over the last year - the car lot, the Arches, pints in the Vic with Jay or solitary drinking in the Albert being about as far afield as he ever ventures these days - while Callum’s world has expanded with his new job and the new friends he’s made there.  Any weapon Callum can use to get Ben at least a little bit back to his old self, he’s going to use it, fair or not.</p><p>He’s not entirely sure he needed Frankie on this occasion, though.  He’d done his best to hide it, but Ben’s eyes had clearly lit up on seeing the Facebook post with the workshop details.  He’d done a bit of grumpy protesting, but not nearly as much as Callum had expected.  It was only later, once the conversation had moved on to other things and he was refilling the teapot, leaving Ben and Frankie to their animated discussion, that he realised he’d possibly been a bit of an idiot.  How many times had he caught Ben watching videos from this dance collective on Facebook?  He probably already follows their page and had seen the workshop for himself...</p><p>Once Frankie leaves with a cheerful wave and kisses blown to them both, Ben turns on Callum with a hard stare.  Callum avoids his gaze, busying himself with clearing the kitchen table and dumping everything into the sink.</p><p>“How was Lexi?”</p><p>Ben doesn’t answer, coming round to stand next to Callum at the sink, eyes still boring into him.  The silence is too much for Callum, who swallows hard.</p><p>“Look, Ben--”</p><p>He’s surprised to be cut off by Ben’s lips on his, Ben reaching up and hooking a hand around the back of his head and pulling him down for a kiss.  But he responds with enthusiasm anyway until Ben pulls away, smiling softly at him.</p><p>“You’re about as subtle as a sledgehammer, you know that?  Love you,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, signing the words, and Callum’s heart glows with affection and relief.</p><p>He responds in kind, signing the words back, and Ben grins, placing his hands on Callum’s shoulders then running them down his arms until he’s holding Callum’s hands in each of his own.  “Don’t think you’ve got away with it though, using poor Frankie like that.  You’re getting punished.”  His voice is low, purring, with an undercurrent of danger in it.</p><p>Callum feels a warm heat beginning in his belly.  “Punished?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” purrs Ben, rising on his toes until his lips are at Callum’s ear.  “You’re coming too.”  He pulls away with a laugh and heads for the sofa, throwing himself onto it, still chuckling as he reaches for the remote.</p><p>Callum is left in the middle of the kitchen, blank and confused.  “Wait, what?”</p><p>Ben glances up at him.  “Did you think you’d get out of it by getting Frankie to do your dirty work for you?  I booked a slot for you too, babe, I ain’t passing up the opportunity to see you in your Lycras.”</p><p>Callum follows him over to the sofa, collapsing on it in dismay, though behind that there’s a little bit of glee, too, that Ben clearly wants him to go with them even if he’s passing it off as a punishment.  He wonders if he’ll ever lose it, that schoolboy fluttering in his chest of <em>eeee, I think he </em>likes<em> me! </em>They’ve been together more than eighteen months now, if you ignored that month-long blip over the Christmas before last and a couple of other, very minor blips, but the way Ben could still make his stomach do somersaults like that was showing no signs of wearing off.</p><p>“Can I not wear trackies?” he says plaintively.</p><p>Ben’s laugh, deep and bubbling up from his chest, full of genuine joy and good humour, is everything.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I won’t dance, how could I?</em><br/>
<em>I won’t dance, why should I?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>The workshop is nowhere near as terrifying as Callum had anticipated.  Not for him, anyway, or for Frankie, who approached it with the casual cheerfulness she approached most things, but Ben was a different matter.  Nerves were clearly getting on top of him as the day arrived, though you’d have to know him as well as Callum did to recognise it behind the front he was putting on.</p><p>The instructor beams at them all as they stand there, shifting awkwardly.  It’s a smaller group than Callum had expected, only around eight of them; he, Ben and Frankie make up more than a third just by themselves.  They’ve all been given a device to wear that’s a little like a backpack but has speakers embedded in it, which will apparently enable them to feel the beat of the music through the vibrations of the bass.</p><p>This was all explained to them by the instructor, but Callum’s sign language skills, gleaned from online tutorials and a bit of practice with Frankie here and there, aren’t nearly fluent enough to keep up.  He and Ben and most of the rest of the class have to turn to the BSL interpreter and wait as he carefully repeats the welcome and instructions for their benefit.  Frankie, who of course got them the first time round, catches Callum’s eye and winks.</p><p>Ben, on his other side, looks pale and nervous, and Callum reflects that this is the first time he’s done anything like this in a very long time.  Hell, this is practically the first time he’s been persuaded to leave Walford since the operation.  He struggled a lot with noisy environments and unfamiliar sounds in those first few months; and even though that’s improved now, it seemed to have knocked his confidence for six.  He’s been practically a hermit for a year or more now, ever since the accident followed by lockdown.</p><p>Callum gives him a reassuring smile and attempts to wink, though he knows he doesn’t quite pull it off, it’s more of a blink.  That seems to be the thing that cheers Ben up though, and his face brightens as he smiles back, shaking his head fondly.</p><p>The music starts as their instructor runs through the very short and simple routine he’s going to be teaching them.  Callum’s nerves flutter at the sight of it - short and simple it may be, but it’s hip hop inspired and all low in the body, and he’s not sure whether he can corral his ridiculously long limbs together to <em>do</em> that - but he’s also shocked at how intense and intimate it is, feeling the music through the speakers on his body, the bass shaking him right to the bone.  He looks across at Ben again, who’s staring intently at the demonstration, and sees an echo of that joy on his face that he’d seen in E20, holding the speaker, all those months ago.</p><p>The class is hard work, but fun.  The instructor is good; patient and relying on physical demonstrations of moves rather than barking out instructions as a hearing teacher might have done, and they’re simple enough to follow along with.  Callum was right though.  Hip hop is not his genre.  His face gets redder and redder as he attempts to remember rights and lefts, which move follows which, and to bend his knees and elbows in ways he’s sure they were never intended to go.</p><p>Beside him, he hears Frankie’s familiar cackle ring out a few times.  When he’s in control enough of his own limbs to risk a glance in the mirror that lines the studio wall in front of them, she seems to be having fun, even if she’s tripping over her own feet and going left instead of right as often as he is.</p><p>Ben, though...Ben is focused intently on the moves and his face rarely cracks a smile, but he gets the hang of every movement from the word go.  His motions are graceful, fluid and rhythmic, hitting the beat with power and intensity when they run bits of the routine to the music, and Callum has to admit to himself that maybe he’d be getting the hang of it all a little better himself if he wasn’t spending so much time staring at Ben.  It’s hypnotic though.  He knows Ben as well as he knows himself; even if he’s not smiling, there’s fierce joy radiating off him in waves.</p><p>They stop for a break halfway through, sweaty and aching and in need of water.  The three of them gather together, a little apart from the rest of the class, gulping from water bottles.</p><p>“Glad you bullied me into this now!” says Frankie cheerfully.  “This is fun.”</p><p>“I <em>didn’t</em>--” begins Callum, then gives up.  “Yeah, the teacher’s good, isn’t he?”</p><p>She nods towards the toned instructor, stretching out at the front of the room while signing a conversation with his interpreter.  “Can see why you fancy him, Ben, he’s seriously fit.”</p><p>“Thanks for that,” says Ben dryly as Callum blinks in surprise and says, “Wait, what?”</p><p>Ben reaches to slide an arm around his waist and pull him close.  “Aw, you know I’ve only got eyes for you, babe.  And your two left feet.”  He looks up at Callum, eyes sparkling in mischief, and Callum doesn’t care that he’s being teased, doesn’t care if Ben fancies their teacher, doesn’t care whatever Ben wants to do or say next, because he’s smiling and joyful and here in the room, taking part, and it’s everything Callum had hoped for.  Callum looks back at him, eyes shining, and leans forward to drop a quick kiss on his forehead.</p><p>Beside them, Frankie begins to make retching noises, and they break apart, laughing.</p><p>At the end of the class, weary but happy, they wave their hands in the air instead of clapping their teacher as they are told to do, and it’s explained through the interpreter that this is part of Deaf culture.  The instructor gestures to attract their attention again, and then signs something further.</p><p>Frankie reacts beside them, as does another member of the class.  “Ohh...” she says softly.</p><p>Ben and Callum exchange glances and wait for the interpreter, who explains that the community group have been given some funding to run a series of 12-week courses along the same lines as this workshop, starting next month; jazz, contemporary, street and hip hop.</p><p>“I’d be up for it,” says Frankie, once she emerges from the female changing rooms and meets up with them again in the corridor outside.  “That was so much fun.  Maybe if I did it for twelve weeks I’d get up to not very good instead of completely terrible.  What about you two?”</p><p>Callum glances at Ben, but he doesn’t answer.  “Depends what day it is, I probably couldn’t manage every week with my shifts...” he says, still looking at Ben.  “<em>Not</em> hip hop though.”</p><p>Ben walks along for a minute as they leave the building and hit the fresh air.  He stares into space as they head for the tube station, looking as though he’s miles away.  “Yeah,” he says after a minute or two.  “Why not?”  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and smiles shyly to himself.  “Anyone fancy a pint?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I know that music leads the way to romance</em><br/>
<em>And if I hold you in my arms, I won’t dance</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s on the fifth week of classes that Ben receives the summons from Phil.</p><p>Callum’s missed two out of the five sessions already, and by the end of that fifth class he’s beginning to worry how he’s going to tell Ben he’s considering dropping out; his awkward shift patterns mean he simply misses too many classes to keep up.  Jazz, as it also turns out, is as much not his thing as hip hop was.  It’s Ben and Frankie’s thing now, without him, but that’s more than fine with Callum.  After everything they’ve been through in the last year or more, the thought of Ben having something that’s just <em>his</em>, that gets him out of the flat, away from Walford and doing his own thing, fills Callum with such joy he feels like he’s walking around on ten foot stilts.</p><p>Ben and Frankie are arguing about something cheerfully now, without him, at the end of the class as the rest of the students file out with a wave, signing their thanks to the instructor and interpreter as they go.  Callum hangs back with a smile, waiting for them to finish whatever their petty row is about - Ben’s not fluent enough in BSL to hold a full conversation in it, but his conversations with Frankie these days do involve a lot of signing and gesticulating and lip reading, and Callum is often excluded a little from them.  Again, this is the very opposite of a problem for him.</p><p>He rescues his phone together with Ben and Frankie’s from where they left them in a little pile in the corner of the studio; and then frowns at his notifications.</p><p>Callum moves over to interrupt their conversation-slash-possibly argument.  “Ben?”  He lays a hand on Ben’s arm; with the processor turned on, Ben can hear well enough to distinguish his own name if said at close quarters these days, but Callum knows anything he can do to makes things easier helps.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I think you should check your phone.  I’ve got a couple of missed calls from Phil.”</p><p>Ben’s face clouds over.  He takes his phone from Callum and unlocks it, before showing Callum the damage, a grim smile on his face.  “Four missed calls, eight texts.”  He opens up the texts while Frankie frowns at them both.</p><p>“This your dad?”</p><p>“Yep.  We’ve been summoned.”  He draws out the word sarcastically, typing out a reply.  “I’ve said we’ll be half an hour.”  He looks up at Frankie and makes a face.  “Sorry, Frank.  We need to go.  It’s my dad...he hasn’t really got anyone else now, you know?”</p><p>“Er, what about my burger?” says Frankie, outraged.  It’s become something of a tradition already; every week they go from the dance class to a local pub and have dinner and a pint there, as they did after the first workshop.</p><p>Ben shrugs.  “Next time?  Come on.”  This was said to Callum, who follows him out of the room with an apologetic gesture to a baffled looking Frankie.</p><p>It’s a little over half an hour by the time they make it back to Walford, and they head straight for the house on Victoria Road, Ben reassuring Callum that they’ll simply pop in, see what the old man wants, then head straight to the Vic for that pint and dinner they’d missed.</p><p>Phil looks up as they enter the kitchen, his eyes narrowing in surprise as Callum follows Ben through the door.</p><p>“Hi...wasn’t expecting the Old Bill,” he says, chuckling in an odd way, as though he’s not entirely sure if he’s joking or not.</p><p>“Well, you weren’t specific, Dad,” says Ben pleasantly, dumping his sports bag on the floor and resting his hands on the back of a kitchen chair.  “We were out, I said we’d pop in on the way home.  What’s up?”</p><p>Phil glances across at Callum, then back to Ben, hand rubbing the back of his head in a nervous gesture.  “Was really looking to just speak to you about something, Ben.  Family business, ya know.  Hope you don’t mind, Callum,” he adds, and Callum’s heart is hammering in his chest.</p><p>Not after everything, he silently pleads.  Not after all we’ve been through to get to where we are now.  He knows, or suspects, that Ben isn’t squeaky clean, and he’s damn sure Phil isn’t - Ben still owns the Arches for a start, and works there on and off, and there’s no <em>way</em> all the business through that place is strictly legitimate - but that’s fine, he can live with that as long as he doesn’t know the details.  But the expression on Phil’s face and the way Ben is reacting, his whole body tensing up, is implying something else, something bigger.  If this was just about some dodgy car deals, they’d leave it until tomorrow or Ben would happily get rid of Callum with an excuse.</p><p>After a moment, Ben swings out the chair he’s leaning on and sits down.  “Don’t think there’s anything you’ve got to say to me that you can’t say in front of Callum, Dad?” he says, and there’s a challenge in the tone, a firm undercurrent to it.</p><p>Phil glances back and forth between the two of them.  Callum says nothing.  This is Ben’s fight, his choice.  It has to be.</p><p>“I fetched us some fish and chips,” says Phil, uncertain, “there’s only enough for two.”</p><p>Ben looks at the cardboard boxes from Beale’s Plaice, one eyebrow raised.  “Nah, we can always make it stretch to three.  That new guy’s generous with the chips, no one tell Ian.”  He stands up and fetches plates from out of the cupboard while Callum takes a seat, trying, not very successfully, not to beam from ear to ear with love and pride.</p><p>They busy themselves for a moment with spreading two portions of fish and chips over three plates while Phil fetches some vinegar, before settling evenly around the kitchen table.</p><p>“So, what’s up?” asks Ben, still with that challenging undernote in his voice.</p><p>Phil ignores the question, glancing around the kitchen.  “What’s with the bags?” he asks instead.  “You ain’t joined a footie team, have ya?” He laughs at his own joke as though it’s the most hilarious thing he could have said.</p><p>“Nah,” says Ben.  “We were at a dance class.”</p><p>Callum freezes, a chip halfway to his mouth.  He stares at Ben over the top of it, but Ben isn’t looking at him, his attention focused entirely on his father.</p><p>Phil blinks.</p><p>“We’ve been going for a few weeks now, with Frankie.  You know our friend Frankie?  Jazz.  I’m really loving it, turns out I’m pretty good.  Those tap lessons came in handy in the end!  Think I might do contemporary next, not sure Callum and Frankie will be up for that one though.  Bit more arty, lots of arm wafting.”</p><p>“Right,” says Phil.  He looks at a complete loss for what to say.  Callum sees him flick his eyes up to the transmitter visible in Ben’s hair, behind his ear, and his throat clenches.  He can see Phil wanting to ask the question but stopping himself, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that he’s stopping himself from saying it.</p><p>Then Callum jumps as he feels a hand slide onto his leg, squeezing his thigh.  He catches Ben’s eye and Ben smiles at him, just a little, and Callum reminds himself that this isn’t his fight.   He doesn’t think he’s ever been prouder in his life though.  Proud and also more than a little turned on; it’s only Phil’s glowering presence that stops him from sweeping Ben up into his arms and ravishing him over the kitchen worktops right here and now.</p><p>Ben picks up a chip and pops it into his mouth, then makes a face.  “Ugh.  More salt.  Pass it over, would ya, Dad?”</p><p>Phil passes the salt shaker in silence, completely poleaxed.  Ben adds the salt to his chips and winks at Callum.</p><p>They make it back to their flat not long after.  Phil never got round to mentioning whatever it was that he’d summoned Ben there to talk about, and didn’t seem eager for them to stay once they’d finished their meal.</p><p>Callum heads straight to the fridge when they get in.</p><p>“Beer?  And dunno about you, but I’m still hungry.  We’ve got cheese and biscuits, I think...?”  He trails off as he turns around to see Ben still standing by the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, staring at him with an expression he can’t quite read.  “...Ben?”</p><p>Ben shrugs off his jacket, tossing it casually on the sofa - and usually Callum would say something about that, there’s a perfectly good hook right next to the front door, but right now he’s mesmerised by the look in Ben’s eyes and the way he’s walking towards him, like a panther stalking its prey.  Ben stops in the middle of the kitchen and tilts his head to one side.</p><p>“Dance with me?”  He holds out a hand.</p><p>Callum swallows, the beer and the cheese forgotten.  He nods silently, then kneels down to untie his shoes, pulling them off and the socks too.  On the other side of the kitchen Ben does the same, throwing his boots over to the door.</p><p>It’s not the first time they’ve done this.  The bare feet and the speaker on the floor with the bass turned up high so that Ben can feel the vibrations aren’t so necessary any more, not with the way Ben has now become used to hearing music through the processor; but it’s become part of them as a couple, part of their traditions.</p><p>Callum fetches the Bluetooth speaker down from its shelf and places it on the kitchen floor, turning it on while Ben cues up the music on his phone.</p><p>Then they meet in the middle of the kitchen floor again, the table pushed to one side.</p><p>The music starts as they reach for each other, arms around each other’s waists, Ben’s head resting on Callum’s shoulder with a sigh.</p><p>“It’s a bit loud,” says Callum.  “We’ll piss off the Panesars below us again.”</p><p>“Who gives a shit.”</p><p>“I don’t know this song.”</p><p>He feels Ben chuckle against his chest.  “Yeah, you wouldn’t.”</p><p>The song is clearly old, something from an old musical or a jazz standard.  It’s a big band style arrangement, lush, rich and romantic.</p><p>Ben sings along as soon as the vocal hits, off-key and slightly out of time.  He’s still getting used to the sound of his own voice through the processor.</p><p>
  <em>“Shall we dance, or keep on moping?”</em>
</p><p>He laughs.  “This was on a CD my Gran bought for me when I was a kid.  I used to make her play it over and over again in the car.  Drove her nuts, she’d beg me to play summat else.” He pauses and raises his head, looking at Callum.  His eyes are sparkling, a smile hovering around the corners of his lips, but he was attempting to look stern.  “Tell anyone and they’ll never find your remains.”</p><p>“Ben!”</p><p>“I know, I know.  You wouldn’t.”</p><p>He tucks his head back under Callum’s chin and they hold each other closer, circling around the kitchen.</p><p>“Thank you,” says Ben softly.  “For everything.”</p><p>Callum closes his eyes and rests his cheek against the top of Ben’s head, turning to drop a kiss in his hair.  The song rings out around them as the evening falls.</p><p>
  <em>“Shall we dance and walk on air?</em><br/>
<em>Shall we give in to despair</em><br/>
<em>Or shall we dance with never a care?”</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In one of the recent 2008 episodes on iPlayer, Peggy buys Ben a CD, looking specifically for '1930s music, syncopated rhythms, George Gershwin, Irving Berlin', hence all the references to that kind of music in this fic.  Ben watches 'Top Hat', a 1930s Fred &amp; Ginger film with songs by Irving Berlin - the song Fred (and Ben) sings from that film is 'Cheek to Cheek'.  The song at the end of the fic which Ben and Callum dance to is 'Shall We Dance', a George &amp; Ira Gershwin song from a Fred &amp; Ginger movie of the same name.</p><p>The title of the fic, and the song lyrics I've used as scene breaks, are all from the song 'I Won't Dance', a Jerome Kern song originally featured in the 1935 film Roberta.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>